An Ode to Community

by Huda Mansuri

The age-old question of what we owe one another can seem complex at first glance. Philosophers, sociologists, and even politicians try to grapple with it every day. Truly, what do we owe one another? Production? Carbon-neutrality? Taxes, maybe, or reparations where they might be due? If you wanted, you really could sit with it for a lifetime.

For some reason, though, when I think of it, sometimes the answer feels like the simplest thing in the world: I come from this Earth, and there has not been a single moment of my beautiful, precious life that I have spent on it alone. I was delivered at the hands of another human. I went to school with them. I learned to love, play, fight with them, and when the sun sets on my life, I will be buried by them as well. Every second I spend alive will be amongst the community. What don’t I owe them? As a teacher, I owe my students my endless time and commitment, and I owe my postman a bottle of water on a hot day. I owe my friends every inch of love stored in my body, and a hug — just that, sometimes: a hug. I owe the children of Palestine my unrelenting solidarity as they fight for their independence, and I owe my trans friends my loud, unwavering presence by their side as they prove for the umpteenth time that they are here, that they are real, that they cannot go anywhere. Time and time again, as the institutions that conduct the society we live in continue to prove that they are not designed to support the people they claim to service, it comes down to us, the people, to understand that it is to each other that we owe our voices, our stories, and our unwavering loyalty because, as we’ve seen too many times, in the face of indomitable despair, it has been the people who share a refugee tent, a street, a classroom, or a local bar who have held each other up and taken action in one another’s honour.

I love people. I always have. I believe in them more than anything else, and certainly more than I believe in government structures or half-informed news outlets. I believe that, when it comes down to it, we are ultimately driven to be more kind to one another than not, and we are more alike than even the best of us could ever want to admit. I believe that no matter what it is that we think powers the world, that we all face our heads towards the same sky when searching for solace. I believe that, for each of us, there is no greater motivation than care and love, and no bigger safety net than the arms of another outstretched, ready to catch us if we fall.

If nothing else, then we owe it to one another to ensure that when our stories are written, they contain the marks of each and every one of us. In a society that wants you to value your own capitalistic gain over the safety and dignity of others, defy the expectations set upon you by knocking on your neighbour’s door and asking them for an egg, or a cup of milk. Hold the elevator door open for someone who is just a little bit too far down the hall. Catsit for your friends, and take your siblings’ kids home from school. Drive a loved one to the airport just to help them out. Include people in your narrative, and make yourself a part of theirs, because when the dust settles on the bloodied rubble of our institutions, it will only be us that are left to tell the tale. Let it be up to us to move our story forward, together. All of us.